Notes to Fill the Silence
by EstelRaca
Summary: Klavier breaks his hand during an investigation, and though it will heal, he finds the intervening weeks difficult. Post Dual Destinies.


**Author's Note:** I am co-running an Ace Attorney fic exchange! Anyone interested in participating, please join the Ace Attorney Holiday Exchange 2015 challenge on Archive of Our Own. We also have a tumblr (aceattorneyexchange dot tumblr dot com). Please join us or spread the word! Also this fic was written for the prompt of Klavier breaking his hand and his friends rallying around to help him.

 _Notes to Fill the Silence_

It's Klavier's fault, really.

He knows better than to be physically confrontational with a suspect, especially in the man's own home. His is an intellectual job, and he's just not that _good_ at being physically intimidating, despite his height. Something about being a famous musician and dressing nicely apparently means that people don't take physical threats from him seriously.

(They should, really. They should remember that his more-prettily-dressed, better-mannered brother beat a man to death with a glass bottle. They should remember Kristoph's eyes, when he finally broke on the witness stand. They don't, though—or perhaps Klavier remembers it _better_ , remembers it to the marrow of his bones, and thus _stops_ himself before he can reach a level of physicality that is actually intimidating to anything other than the prosecutor's bench.)

He should have been paying attention to what the man had in his hand. He should have been more careful. But he was tired, this being his second near-sleepless night while working on this case, and the man had been so quiet and shy the first time they talked, and it hadn't even occurred to Klavier that pressing him while the suspect's wife watched, while he worked on something at his tool bench, could be _physically_ dangerous.

Then the hammer came down on his hand, the hand he had just slammed down on the bench, and Klavier distinctly heard the _crunch_ of breaking bones.

It didn't hurt, at first. There was too much shock for it to hurt, too much adrenaline suddenly pouring through his system.

He dodged the second strike—not with any grace, more a skittering fall to the side than a true dodge, but the hammer didn't find flesh a second time.

He should be happy about that, really. He should be happy the blow to the head missed, because it's his mind that he needs more than his hands.

(Except his hands are also an integral part of his life, and he holds his injured right one close to his chest, like a mongrel cur with a hurt paw.)

Ema Skye responds to the altercation with poise and control, disarming the man at gunpoint and cuffing his hands behind his back. She divides her attention as she should, between the man and his wife, warning the woman to stay where she is and keep her hands plainly visible.

The woman acquiesces, glaring daggers at her husband that cause him to wilt visibly. "Don't worry. No way I'm goin' to jail for assaulting an officer of the law."

"Good." Ema keeps her gun out when she pulls out her phone, though, dialing one-handed, eyes still flicking between the married couple. "Yeah, this is Ema Skye. I need someone to come pick up a suspect who just assaulted Prosecutor Gavin. Nothing life-threatening, but I want to get Gavin to the hospital ASAP. Yeah, that's the address."

Ema carefully crosses the distance to where Klavier is currently slumped against a spiderweb-covered, splintery garage wall, still keeping her attention focused on their prey. "Just a few minutes, Prosecutor Gavin, and then I'll drive you to the hospital."

"No worries." Klavier tries and mostly succeeds in keeping his teeth from chattering, recognizing the edges of shock. Silly, when it's just his hand that's hurt. There's barely even any blood, just a few crimson drops welling up from where the head of the hammer scraped his skin. "I am quite certain that I will live."

(He will live, but will he be able to play again?)

Klavier's stomach clenches tight at the thought, and he bites down on the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. No need to get himself worked up and melodramatic over something that hasn't happened. No use humiliating himself by throwing up at a crime scene over a small injury.

"Klavier..."

Klavier's head jerks up, and he blinks in surprise. He could probably count on both hands the number of times Ema has actually called him by his first name. Usually when she knows he is within earshot he is _Prosecutor Gavin_ , sometimes simply _boss_. When she does _not_ think he can hear he knows that she has a vast array of less than flattering nicknames for him, though those seem to have been getting less use since Phoenix Wright returned to court.

Ema's expression shifts as she glances between him and their prisoners. She opens her mouth, clearly discards what she was originally going to say, and eventually bites out a sharp, "You're going to be just fine."

"I know." Klavier allows his head to fall back against the wooden wall, not caring if his hair becomes mussed, all his attention focused on keeping his throbbing hand still. The longer they sit the worse his hand hurts, and he can see bruises already swelling dramatically under his skin, though he tries not to look at the injury very much. Best not to see it and panic himself more than is needed.

"I mean..." Ema sighs, gun still pointing unerringly at the couple. "Really, you're fine."

"I know, _fraulein_." Klavier can't help but smile at Ema's stumbling attempt to comfort him—at the way she borrows Apollo Justice's favorite phrase to do so, and he wonders if she is friends with the young attorneys Phoenix Wright has taken under his wing. He supposes it would make sense, given the way Ema respects Phoenix.

"Good." Ema gives a decisive nod, as though satisfied with his answer, and shifts her aim from husband to wife as the woman settles down against the car.

Klavier works hard to keep his smile from fading as agony grows steadily, in throbbing waves that are just slightly behind his heart beat.

He has been through far worse in the last two years, after all. He has sent his best friend and his brother both to death row. He has a calendar counting down the days until his brother's execution. He has quietly investigated the murder of the woman who helped him become a decent person, despite all the pitfalls to that end that lay in his path.

(He has circumvented his boss, a man whom he dearly respects, to do that investigating, because Miles Edgeworth gave that case to Simon Blackquill despite Klavier's requests, because the Phantom investigation was more important than any personal vendetta Klavier may have.)

And, really, who is he to complain even after all that? He didn't lose eight years of his life to prison. He hasn't lost his best friend to murder. He wasn't forced to watch a man he cares about deeply suffer under false charges for seven years while working with the man who caused it. He wasn't placed on trial for the murder of his mother, forced to relive nightmares in front of a blood-hungry audience.

Klavier forces his eyes to focus on Ema's rock-steady form, away from his hand.

He hasn't ever been used by a sociopath to turn a sibling into a pawn, knows that his brother is in prison for crimes that are all Kristoph's own fault, doesn't have to worry when he visits him that maybe if Klavier hadn't existed Kristoph wouldn't have ended up where he is.

Really, compared to a lot of what everyone around him has been through, this is nothing.

Klavier cradles the aching ball of agony that used to be very talented fingers to his chest and repeats that to himself over and over again, not aware that he's rocking in time to the throbbing pain that mimics his heartbeat.

XXX

"I'm sorry."

Klavier opens his eyes, turning to look at Detective Ema Skye in surprise.

Ema stands in front of him, her hands on her hips. It's clear from her expression that she hasn't managed to speed anything up with this fourth trip to the desk.

"That's all right." Klavier nods with his head to one of the chairs next to him. "I was not expecting them to hurry things up. I am not bleeding anywhere or throwing up on the floor—they have no reason to rush."

"And apparently the orthopedic surgeon isn't back from lunch for another hour, which gives them even _less_ incentive to rush." Ema throws herself down in the chair right next to Klavier, another move that startles him. "But it's not just the medical establishment's incompetence that I'm sorry about, though _they_ might be sorry if they don't do something about your pain here shortly. Patience is not always my greatest virtue. But... I should have been paying more attention. I shouldn't ever have let you get into a situation where you'd get hurt. I'm really sorry that all this happened."

Klavier blinks, caught off guard again. Has Ema Skye ever apologized to him for anything? Not that she usually has any reason to. She is very competent at her job, astute and observant and dedicated to justice and the truth. "It was not your fault, _fraulein_. _I_ should not have put myself in a position where I could be injured. And it is a small thing—you didn't let him land a blow anywhere truly important, _ja_? Not that you would have noticed much change, perhaps, if he struck me in the head. A glimmerous fop does not do that much thinking, no?"

A smile starts to bloom and then immediately fades on Ema's face as Klavier's tongue continues babbling without his express permission. "I would notice, Klavier. A glimmerous fop you may be, but you're also a hell of a talented prosecutor and... y'know... a pretty decent guy."

Klavier can feel his eyes widening in surprise.

"Don't look at me like that." Ema moves to swat his shoulder, apparently realizes that it is the shoulder attached to his injured right hand, and instead flails for a moment before fuming at him. "If Phoenix Wright can forgive you, I can too. Especially since Mr. Edgeworth says that you're one of his best prosecutors."

"I..." Klavier can feel his back straightening from its curved slouch, his face heating as he smiles uncontrollably. "Did... he actually say that?"

"Yeah." Ema returns his grin, not seeming to mind his enthusiasm. Then again, Ema is openly a fan of Prosecutor Edgeworth, was one of his most vocal supporters during his bid for the Chief Prosecutor position. Klavier had _agreed_ with her on pretty much every point she made in favor of Edgeworth and had still been a little overawed by her intensity.

"If you don't mind my asking... when?" Klavier keeps his head ducked down, though hopefully the industrial lights and the complexion of his skin will make it hard for Ema to see that he's blushing—for Ema to see how much it means to him, that _Miles Edgeworth_ , international prosecutor and bane of corruption the world over, thinks _Klavier_ is an _asset_.

"When he was convincing me to keep working with you." Ema's face contorts, and Klavier has the distinct impression that she is resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

"Wait, what? When?" Klavier frowns at the woman, trying not to let it show that the idea of her choosing not work with him—to use her friendship with the Chief Prosecutor to avoid him—hurts. For the longest time it was no secret that Ema hated him, and the fact that their relationship has warmed over the last year makes her under no obligation to stay with him.

Ema rolls her eyes. "When I was thinking about applying to Forensics again. Because I like nothing more than bashing my head against a brick wall in an attempt to do what I actually studied to do."

"Ah." That makes sense. Klavier knows that Ema finds nothing more rapturous than a good scientific experiment, and he isn't surprised to learn that she still wants to transfer to forensics. "The Chief Prosecutor didn't think it was a good idea?"

"Well, yes and no. He said I was free to pursue any career that I wish, and that he hoped I would find joy in whatever paths I choose to explore." Ema does a remarkably good impression of the Chief Prosecutor's voice, and she crosses her arms in front of her chest as she does, a fair imitation of one of his stances. "He also said, and I quote, that 'it's nice to have a detective with an IQ that reaches the triple digits, and Gavin and Skye have been an incredibly _productive_ team' that he would hate to lose. And basically continued in that vein, praising both of us, until I threw up my hands and said all right, I will remain a detective until such time as he thinks I'll be of more use elsewhere."

"I think you will be of use wherever you are stationed, Fraulein Science." Klavier smiles at the exuberant woman, trying not to think that he wishes _this_ were the Ema Skye he first got to meet, not the bitter, angry woman who hated him before she even met him for harm he never intended her.

"Shut up, Gavin. You know I'm never one to give in to your flattery." Ema scowls at him, but there's no heat in the expression, only a hesitant sort of teasing, as though she's not certain how he will react to it.

"It's not flattery. It is simply truth." Klavier grins, trying to turn his charm up to eleven and finding that it's a little more difficult than usual when every little movement makes his broken hand ache more.

"Truth tends to make a good groundwork on which to base flattery." Ema's eyes flick to his hand, clearly having caught the echoes of pain in his voice and face. Her fierce scowl, one of the most common expressions Klavier sees on her, returns with a vengeance as she faces the front desk again. "And I'm going to go harass a few people again, see if we can at least get them to give you something for pain. You were injured in the line of duty, for god's sake!"

"I was hit with a hammer because I am sometimes a slow idiot. It isn't..." Klavier trails off, because Ema is already storming toward the desk, harried nurses parting before her like green-draped fish before a shark.

He should probably call her back.

He should probably insist that he's fine.

But he's tired and his hand _hurts_ and he doesn't want to upset Ema, to break these fragile threads of friendship that they are maybe starting to weave.

So instead he stays silent and still, hoping that when someone finally does come tend to his hand, they will lay all of his fears to rest.

XXX

Two hours later, and he has been moved from the general waiting room to a small personal waiting room where he is doing basically exactly what he had done before he was moved—sitting still and trying not to move his hand or look at it, because if he looks at it he feels queasy and starts panicking more than is reasonably justified.

"This is _ridiculous_." Ema paces from one side of the waiting room to the other, fuming. "I swear, it almost would have been better if he _did_ hit you in the head, at least then maybe someone would _care_."

"Things are progressing." Somehow Ema being so angry on his behalf makes it easier for Klavier to stay calm. "They have at least taken an x-ray of my hand now."

"Yeah, and declared, smart folks that they are, that it's broken. _I_ told them that when we checked you in! Reason for visit: broken hand. Are they _illiterate_ as well as incompetent?"

"Technically they were not supposed to tell us anything." Klavier doesn't shrug, knowing from prior experience that there is about a fifty percent chance of him pulling something in his lower arm that will make the pain spike in his hand. "They were just technicians. I do believe that the poor woman was attempting to make a joke by saying that my hand is broken."

"Well, it wasn't a very good joke. Mr. Wright makes better jokes, and his are terrible." Ema settles down for all of ten seconds in the chair next to Klavier before jumping back to her feet and resuming her pacing. After a second she pulls out her phone, checking the time before glancing between the door and Klavier.

"You can go, if you need to." Klavier speaks quietly, trying to smile as he does. "There's no need for you to stay. I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

Ema's eyes move to his swollen hand and then swiftly away. "You aren't going to be able to drive yourself anywhere, not on that motorcycle of yours."

"Especially not since it isn't currently here." Klavier makes the observation drily. "I suspect I will be staying overnight, to have... this... fixed. If I am wrong, I can certainly call a cab at any time."

Ema sighs. "I should at least call in. Give me just a few minutes, all right?"

Klavier nods, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, giving Ema as much privacy as he can. If not for how much his _verdammt_ hand hurts, he would try to sleep.

With the unerring sense of timing that his life always seems to have, the nurse of course chooses that moment to come in.

"Mr. Gavin?" The young man stumbles on the name, and he blushes fiercely as he looks at Klavier.

Clearly he knows Klavier, from either his music or his prosecuting career. Klavier straightens, trying to smile and suppress any sign of pain. All the world is a stage, as the great people say, and Klavier hates disappointing fans. " _Ja_?"

"The orthopedic surgeon took a look at your x-rays, and wants you to go for an MRI in about a half hour, to try to get a better idea of tendon and ligament damage before we go to surgery. All right?"

"Whatever the doctors wish, I will do." Klavier can feel his smile slipping, not liking the sound of tendon and ligament damage.

"Good. I'll be back in twenty minutes or so, then. If you could remove anything magnetic that you've got on—anything metal—that would be great." The nurse smiles before disappearing back out the door.

Klavier sighs once the young man's gone, reaching up to pull his necklace off. The chains on his belt and the rings on his unbroken hand are going to be more difficult, given his one-handed status. He is very grateful that Ema thought to remove the rings from his broken hand before the swelling would have made it near impossible.

Fingers close on the chain of his necklace, take it carefully and settle it atop the nightstand to the right of him, where Klavier would have had to twist awkwardly to reach. "Want some help?"

Klavier raises one eyebrow. "No need to hurry back?"

"Senior Detective Gumshoe says that if I leave your side before I have a complete update for everyone on your prognosis, he's going to dock my pay."

"I am fairly certain he doesn't have the authority to do that." Klavier frowns. "Or if he does, I have the authority to undo it. You've no need to worry about me, fraulein. Go home or back to the office if you wish."

"If that's what you'd prefer." Ema's fists perch on her hips again, and she returns his frown. "But I don't mind staying and helping, if you want. At least until we know more."

He doesn't have the right to ask this of her. Even if they _are_ , somehow, becoming friends, she's certainly got better, more important things to do than babysit him.

But he is tired, and the idea of trying to maneuver his rings off with his teeth is unappealing, and he is _glad_ of the company, glad to have someone distract him from the darkest of his thoughts.

Holding out his hand to her, Klavier nods at his rings. "Would you mind helping me get these off? I seem to be having a bit of trouble using my other hand."

Ema's fingers are gentle and kind as they help maneuver the jewelry off him—his rings, his earrings, his chains.

Klavier thanks her, never quite meeting her eyes, torn between pleasure at the simple fact of another human's kind touch and embarrassment at needing the assistance.

Hopefully, it will be assistance that he doesn't need for very long, because being a burden has never been something that Klavier is comfortable with.

XXX

Klavier eventually manages to fumble open the door to his house, having to use his left hand only, his right hand numb and tingling where it is bound tight to his chest to prevent use.

Eight weeks.

He has just spent thirty-six hours in the hospital, and he will still not be able to use his hand for eight weeks—not _really_ use it, for writing or playing, though he will probably be starting physical therapy in four to six weeks, slowly regaining the dexterity that will be robbed by the enforced stillness needed to allow bone healing.

 _You're lucky_ , the surgeon had told him as she cheerfully described the tiny bits of metal and wire and suture that she intended to use to reconstruct Klavier's hand. _Provided you follow instructions, you should regain all or at least most use of the hand._

The words had been a cool balm over Klavier, the relief so sweet and palpable it had almost made him forget how much his hand still hurt, even through the nerve blocks that had been haphazardly placed so that the surgeon could manipulate his hand without Klavier screaming.

As the woman continued talking, listing all the things Klavier was not going to be allowed to do as healing took place, the relief had slowly eroded away.

He will be able to play again, eventually—hopefully, and that lack of promise, the woman's careful hedging of her words to prevent lawsuits in the future, had hurt.

But he will be half-crippled until then, unable to do more than use his right hand as a dead weight.

Not that self-pity will get him anywhere. He is _lucky_. He must remember that, remember how much worse things could be—how much worse many of his coworkers have it.

Dragging the door closed, leaning against it for a moment so that he doesn't have to look and see his empty house full of musical instruments he will not be able to touch for weeks, Klavier draws deep, even breaths.

He will be going back to work tomorrow. He has already caused too much trouble for everyone, Simon Blackquill having to take over the trial that should have been Klavier's. He will not cause more by taking an extended leave of absence.

Which means he needs to figure out how he's going to dress himself. How he's going to do up his hair. How he's going to _get_ to work, when Ema is right and he will not be able to drive his beloved hog for weeks.

How he will make himself food, Klavier realizes, and he flexes his left hand as he stares down at it in dismay. "You are going to have to learn to be far cleverer than you currently are, my friend, or we are going to be in a great deal of trouble."

His hand doesn't answer him, and Klavier stalks quietly towards his kitchen, pointedly not looking at the guitars displayed so proudly.

He is lucky, and he is going to remember that and act like it, no matter how much a part of him wants to crawl into bed and not crawl out until his body is healed.

XXX

The first day it is Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth who asks how he's doing.

"Prosecutor Gavin?"

Klavier jerks his head up, fighting the urge to curse as strands of hair fall across his vision. He is _certain_ he had captured them all in a clip at the base of his skull when he finally stumbled out of his house this morning and into the waiting cab, but it seems they're already attempting to escape their less-sturdy-than-usual prison.

Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth smiles uncertainly at him, an expression that Klavier's not sure he's ever seen on the older man. "You're looking well today, Prosecutor Gavin, given what you've been through."

Klavier should probably say something disarming or kind, thank the silver-haired man for his interest in Klavier's health. He can't quite make himself do that right now, though, because he knows Miles Edgeworth's words are a blatant lie. Klavier looks just shy of _awful_ , more rumpled and less professional than he has looked when coming in to work since... well, ever. Doing up buttons with one hand, while possible, is an exercise in frustration, as is working with his hair. He isn't even _able_ to wear his suit jacket or button up the right sleeve of his dress shirt, due to the cast that immobilizes his wrist, and though the sleeve-rolled-up effect looks very fetching on Apollo Justice, it doesn't do nearly as much justice to Klavier, especially when he was attempting to fumble the left sleeve up with his left hand.

"Do you..." Miles Edgeworth gestures toward the door, which Klavier has _almost_ managed to unlock. "Want assistance with that?"

No, he does _not_ want assistance. He wants his hand to work properly again—not eight weeks from now, but _now_ , when he needs it.

The lock finally clicks open, and Klavier twists the knob and shoves the door open with a feeling of satisfaction that such a small action doesn't really warrant. "No, thank you. I can handle it."

"Of course you can." Edgeworth smiles again, and this time it is less hesitant, almost... proud.

Klavier ducks his head, heady delight at the idea of Edgeworth being pleased with him vying with shame. He opened a _door_. He allowed himself to be injured like this. He knows, from the way that everything else has taken him twice as long, that he will more of a burden than a help to the office for the next several weeks.

Edgeworth hesitates at the doorway before following Klavier into his office. "How's your hand feeling? Ms. Skye said that you're expected to make a full recovery, which is a relief, but I'm certain it must be... annoying."

Staring at his boss, biting back any more bitter response, Klavier inclines his head. " _Ja_ , Herr Katze. It is... very frustrating. I will be sure not to let it interfere with my work, though."

"I trust you'll continue to do your usual admirable job." Edgeworth nods. "But don't be afraid to ask for assistance. If there's anything that you need, any accommodations that can make your recovery easier, I'm happy to see what can be done."

" _Danke_ , Herr Edgeworth. I will keep that in mind." Klavier finds that he is hugging his right hand tight to his chest. He knows that there are supposed to be accommodations made for temporary disabilities, but he doesn't want to need to have to use them. He doesn't want to have to bother people or ask for concessions over something so silly as a broken hand... especially when there are other, more important things for people to be focusing on. "How goes the Kirin case?"

Edgeworth grimaces, and for a moment Klavier regrets bringing up their current high-profile investigation as the Chief Prosecutor's body stiffens, all the calm and camaraderie that had been there when he asked about Klavier's status disappearing. "The case is progressing."

A succinct, press-worthy answer, and Klavier inclines his head, accepting that either there has been no forward progress or Edgeworth feels that whatever steps forward he has taken are best kept secret for the moment. "If there is anything I can do..."

"I'll let you know." Edgeworth's expression softens again. "Just work on getting better, Prosecutor Gavin. Everyone's looking forward to you playing at the office party."

"Well, not _everyone_." Klavier forces a smile, trying not to let his fingers of his right hand curl the scant millimeters that they can, a vain attempt to reach for chords on strings he won't be allowed to touch for far too long. "There was some debate over whether or not I should be allowed to display my talents again."

"Debate which Prosecutor DeBeste and Prosecutor Blackquill put to rest. There's room and, sadly, time enough at the party for multiple performances of various genres."

"You say that as though you don't enjoy the parties." Klavier smiles, a more honest expression this time. "Surely that can't be the case. The alcohol is decent enough, at least, to make it bearable."

"Oh, it's certainly bearable. But there is a difference between bearable and the proper length, and I think it passes that point by about two hours."

"And if the rumors are true and someone has indeed extended an invitation to the members of the Wright Anything Agency to attend this time?" Klavier lifts an eyebrow.

"Then I pity everyone, because the night is going to dissolve into a chaotic mess and someone is likely going to die." The Chief Prosecutor's lips twitch in a definite smile as he makes his grim proclamation, though, a much nicer expression than the troubled one he wore when discussing the Kirin case. "Though I suppose it will result in the fastest movement from crime to trial there has ever been, seeing as there would then be detectives, prosecutors, judges, and defense attorneys present. We could even begin conducting the trial immediately, since the culprit would also most likely have to be present at the party to have done the murder."

"Not necessarily." Klavier purses his lips. "Given that one of _them_ would be the defense attorney, it would likely turn out that either the victim was poisoned hours before and just decided to die at the party, or they were killed by some fluke accident, an asteroid plunging from the heavens or a rare allergic reaction to food."

"Either that or it will turn out to be the tip of the iceberg for some kind of international conspiracy that will keep us all busy for weeks." Miles gives a brief snort of laughter as he shakes his head. "Worries for another time, though. There's truly nothing you need assistance with right now?"

"I am fine, Herr Katze. No need to worry over me." It's true, even, for the moment. Talking to Edgeworth, hearing from the man himself that he approves of Klavier's work, and helping to make the Chief Prosecutor relax have all improved his mood greatly. Having successfully arrived at work and made his way to his desk, Klavier is actually looking forward to the intellectual activity that the rest of the day will bring.

"I'll leave you to it, then." Edgeworth smiles as he heads to the door. "Take care of yourself, Gavin."

Klavier nods his assent, flips open the newest case file on his desk, and realizes with a sinking feeling of dismay that he is going to need to learn to write with his left hand.

XXX

Klavier collapses into bed that evening, exhausted and frustrated.

His inability to write anything more legible than a fifth-grader with his left hand he had managed to deal with by printing out most of his requests and then scrawling an almost-recognizable signature. It had made work take longer, but it had been better than any other alternative he could find.

Dinner he had dealt with by ordering delivery. He can heat up the left-overs for another two or three meals, which is good, because even with two hands he is not very talented in the kitchen.

He'll need to find a better way to get to and from work, because having to call a cab any time he wants to go anywhere is going to get old very fast. What's he supposed to do, though? Buy a car? Silly to put down the money on a conveyance he likely won't want to use once he can ride his hog again. Though maybe he will find uses for it, in transporting others... maybe there will be other things he can...

He doesn't have time to miss the music, at least, dropping off to sleep before he even manages to remove his clothes.

It isn't until he's woken from uneasy dreams by the blaring of his alarm—set an hour early, to try to give him extra time to get ready—that he finds his fingers itching again for the feel of strings.

Klavier forces the feeling down, reminding himself that he has more important things to worry about. Reminding himself that he is lucky, no matter how much his hand itches and aches, no matter how helpless and irritated he feels as he once more struggles to dress himself.

He is lucky, and he will act like it if it kills him.

XXX

On the second day it is Athena Cykes and Trucy Wright who come to check on him.

"Prosecutor Gavin!"

There is a knock at the door, but Trucy barges in before Klavier has a chance to properly respond to it—has a chance to do more than raise his head from where he has allowed it to slump against his desk.

"Trucy!" Athena follows the younger girl into the room. "Sorry, Prosecutor Gavin."

"No need to be sorry." Trucy sticks her tongue out at Athena. "I know Klavier. He's not going to be doing anything that he doesn't want someone walking in on. Not unless he locks the door, at least. Klavier's clever enough to hide anything the tabloids and my little virgin eyes shouldn't see, yeah?"

Klavier blinks, feeling slow and unkempt. "Fraulein Magician. Fraulein Cykes. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We came to see if you're all right, of course." Trucy perches herself on the edge of his desk.

Athena stands in front of his desk, looking a bit more professional, but her smile is no less warm than Trucy's. "We heard about your injury. That has to suck."

"I'm so glad you're going to be okay, though." Trucy reaches across the desk to pat him on the head. "We would have found some way to still let you play—maybe Simon's sister could make you a robot hand or something—but it must still be really frustrating."

"I am fine, _fraulein_." Klavier thinks that he is speaking in his normal voice, that he keeps his tone light and cheerful.

Athena suddenly freezes, her right hand rising slowly to touch her earring.

Klavier struggles to find something to say that will be truthful but that will make Athena calm down. "I mean... there have been some annoyances. It is hard to write with my left hand, for instance. But as you said, I will be fine. I just need to be patient."

Athena and Trucy share a look, a deep, subtle exchange that leaves Klavier feeling slightly uneasy.

"So, _frauleins_..." Klavier tries to smile. "What brings you to the Prosecutor's Office? Surely you did not come all the way here to check on me?"

"No." Athena crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Though it was tempting. We were here to talk with Prosecutor Blackquill about a case we're the defense on."

"Oh?" Klavier smiles easily this time. "You will have to tell me the dates so that I can come watch."

Athena raises one eyebrow. "You have that much faith in Prosecutor Blackquill beating us?"

"No." Klavier shakes his head. "I am going to enjoy watching you beat him. After all, Fraulein Wright has an unbroken record of wins."

Trucy's grin is wide and bright. "That's true. If I'm on a case, you know that justice is going to prevail."

"Justice doesn't have anything to do with this case." Athena grins at Trucy. "It's Cykes and Wright all the way."

Klavier finds his smile fading as he thinks of Apollo Justice. His right hand is cradled to his chest again, and he frowns down at it. Silly, the way he's letting this small thing irritate him so much, when Apollo has suffered true sorrow, true loss. "How is Herr Justice?"

Athena's shoulders move in a faint shrug. "Recovering. It's been hard on him, but he's tough. I... think things would be better if he actually let himself rest, let himself process everything that's happened, but he's determined to keep busy."

Trucy is toying with a paperweight now, and she glances between Athena and Klavier, her expression downcast. "It can feel good, sometimes. Or at least better than the alternative. Having something to do, something to worry about other than... whatever awful thing happened."

"It can be." Athena's voice is soft and gentle as she lays a hand on Trucy's shoulder. "But it can also be a way to avoid having to deal with emotions that aren't going to go away until you deal with them. Sometimes Apollo's on the good side of that line, the healing side, and sometimes he's not. But he's getting better, slowly but surely."

"Yeah." Trucy forces a smile. "He'll be fine. It's Apollo. Polly always has to be fine."

"We won't let him be anything but fine, in the long run." Athena hugs Trucy, a brief, fierce pull of the younger girl against her side. "Even if in the short term that means getting him to admit when he's not fine."

"It's a trait that seems to run in the family." Trucy gives a long-suffering sigh. "Or maybe it's contagious. Because it's infected Uncle Edgeworth and Aunt Maya and most of our other friends, too. Though they had it before we met Polly, so maybe it's just that with Polly there's an easy way to tell when he's lying, because he's clearly not fine even though he's saying he is."

"Apollo's memetic virus— _I'm fine_ changed from a cry of victory to a denial of need." Athena shakes her head. "A terrible fate. Not fair to the phrase or to Apollo. We'll just have to make sure that we're a good vaccine, so that everyone can get back to _really_ being fine."

Trucy casts a sly sideways glance at Klavier as her smile blossoms again. "We can be the best kind of vaccine."

Klavier has the distinct impression that he's being indicted in this conversation somehow, and not in a flattering way. He's not entirely sure how, though, or what exactly it is that they want him to do.

Trucy reaches out and pokes at his shirt sleeve. "I like the way you look without your jacket. I mean, I like the way you look in your jacket, too, but you look... hmm... calmer like this. More relaxed. When Apollo has his sleeves rolled up, he usually looks like he wants to punch something. I'm glad that you don't."

Klavier raises his eyebrows. "Don't _want_ to punch something, or don't _look_ like I wish to inflict violence on the next object that catches my eye?"

"Both. You've got a different type of intensity. A Klavier type of intensity." Trucy's eyes scan up and down Klavier's body. "Hey, Athena, you're really good at doing braids, right?"

"I guess." Athena straightens, preening a bit at the praise. "You saw what I did with yours the other day."

"I did." Trucy leans forward, her voice falling to a whisper. "If you asked really nicely, I'm sure Athena would do your hair for you. I bet you can't braid your hair one-handed, huh?"

Klavier's left hand rises to touch his hair, once more held at the nape of his neck. He answers Trucy in the same soft voice that he's certain Athena can still hear. "Does it really look that bad?"

"No." Trucy shakes her head vigorously.

"No." Athena answers at the same time, making Klavier feel a bit more certain that neither is lying.

Trucy continues. "It looks great. But getting my hair braided can make me feel better, and I thought maybe it would make you feel better, too."

"I'd be happy to if you want, Klavier." Athena's smile is warm and welcoming. "Though feel free to say no, to send us on our way if that's what would make you happier."

"I..." Klavier runs a hand over his hair, feeling where tangles are starting despite his best efforts. "I suppose it is close to lunch break... if you wouldn't mind..."

Athena grins. "Just give me a brush."

The two young women carefully brush his hair, chattering all the while, their hands gentle. Klavier imagines that this is what it would feel like to have had sisters, and he finds himself closing his eyes, lulled by the sound of their voices and the smooth, rhythmic motion of the brush through his hair.

"Would you like to sing with me, Klavier?"

The request causes him to jerk back to full consciousness, and Klavier blinks until he can focus on Trucy's shy, uncertain face.

"We don't have to, if you don't want to, but since you can't play guitar I think singing's probably a good way to get some of the music out and, well..." Trucy blushes, looking down. "I'd really like to sing with you, if you don't mind."

"Of course." Klavier finds himself smiling again, an honest expression. "Start any song you'd like, _fraulein_ , and I will sing along."

She chooses a Gavinners' song.

Klavier shouldn't be surprised, really. Trucy has made no secret of the fact that she is a huge fan of his band. It is an older, less-well-known song that she chooses, and she changes the lyrics slightly—changes that Klavier finds are mostly for the better. Her voice is sweet and smooth, reminding him hauntingly of someone else's voice, though he can't quite place whose, and Klavier finds it no difficulty to trail his voice in descants and counter-melodies around hers.

When they're done Athena lays a braid over Klavier's left shoulder. "There. Just like you always do it."

Arms hug him from behind, and Klavier finds his left hand rising, clasping Athena's forearm in a gesture that he hopes can convey even a fraction of the gratitude he feels for what she and Trucy have just done. " _Danke vielmals_ , Fraulein Cykes."

Athena tightens her hands around him before gently disentangling herself. " _De nada_ , Klavier. Take care of yourself, all right? We want to have you back in court slamming that hand against walls as fast as we can."

"And recording albums!" Trucy takes his broken hand, pulling it away from his chest, and very softly presses a kiss to the back of the cast. "If you need us, call. If you don't call and I find out you needed us, I'm going to be very cross."

"I would not want you to be cross." Klavier holds his good hand up in surrender. "I will call if I need you."

"Good." Athena nods before taking Trucy and steering her determinedly toward the door. "We need to get going, but I'm sure we'll be seeing you before too long."

" _Schonen tag_ , Trucy, Athena." Klavier turns back to the paperwork spread across his desk, finding that it looks far less daunting now than it did before the young women barged in.

"Oh, one last thing, Prosecutor Gavin." Athena spins around. "How've you been getting to and from work?"

Klavier considers lying, but knows that it would upset both women and likely not work, given Athena's talents. So instead he shrugs and tells the truth, hoping that it won't upset them somehow. "Cab."

"Okay." Athena nods, as though she had been expecting the answer. " _Ciao_ , Prosecutor Gavin!"

"Bye, Klavier!" Trucy waves before quietly shutting the door behind her, leaving Klavier alone in his office again.

Shaking his head, Klavier tries his best to focus on his work, wanting to get as much done as he can before frustration rises again to make everything harder.

XXX

Detective Ema Skye drives him home that night, without Klavier asking her to. She simply appears at his office door at six thirty, demanding to know what she can do so that they can both go home at a decent hour. When Klavier tries to tell her that she can go home without him, she simply scowls and shoves a schedule into his hands.

Apparently there are five detectives and prosecutors who live close enough to Klavier that they are willing and able to help him with transportation. It also seems that Klavier himself will have very little say in whether or not he accepts the assistance, unless he wants to have Ema scowl at him fiercely.

He enjoys the drive more than he thought he would. He finds that it is easier to talk to Ema now than it had been before the incident, and though Ema has apparently very carefully avoided adding any Gavinners' music to her playlists, Klavier recognizes and enjoys a lot of the European bands that she does have in her mix.

Heated up left-overs make a not-entirely-satisfying meal, but it's better than starving, and Klavier actually manages to change out of his work clothes before collapsing into sleep this time.

XXX

Day three, and Prosecutor Sebastian DeBeste sidles uneasily into Klavier's office, looking as though he'd really rather be anywhere else.

Klavier forces a smile onto his face. Sebastian may be older than him, but from the time Klavier met the man he's been a strange combination of over-confident and completely uncertain of himself, kind-hearted and very wary about showing that kindness. Klavier has picked up through office osmosis and Prosecutor Edgeworth's case histories (and Ema Skye's rapturous reminiscences about her history working with Edgeworth) that Sebastian's father was a sociopathic bastard who did a number on him. It sometimes makes Sebastian's responses to situations a little... off, though. Especially if fire is involved, and Klavier is glad that at least _his_ traumatic history hasn't left him afraid of flames, elevators, earthquakes, heights.

Another way that he's lucky, really, that he has no readily-encountered triggers.

"Hi, Klavier." Sebastian waves uncertainly. "Are you... are you recovering all right?"

"I'm fine." Klavier lifts his right hand. "Just means I'll be able to punch harder for the next few weeks, _ja_?"

Sebastian studies the cast with eyes that are looking suspiciously moist. "I'm so glad you're going to be all right. You're such a talented musician—if he'd actually managed to cripple you I—I would have found _some_ way to prosecute him for desecration or destruction of sacred property!"

Klavier stares at his friend, not sure if Sebastian is starting to mix up words again in his clearly-irate state. Though Sebastian would frequently confuse the meaning of words when Klavier first met him, it's something that's improved greatly over the last eight years, and now only seems to happen when he's very flustered.

"Sorry." Sebastian sighs, shoulders slumping. "I'm sure my being upset isn't making you feel any better, and that's really what I'd like to do. It's just... you're the one who taught me it was all right to be both a musician and a prosecutor. That my pops was wrong when he... and someone trying to take that away from you... it just makes me _livid_."

"Your concern is appreciated, Sebastian." Klavier finds that his right hand is cradled to his chest again, and he carefully forces himself to relax. "But really, there's no need for it. I'm sure Prosecutor Blackquill received the maximum sentence possible."

"He did." A smile touches Sebastian's mouth for the first time since he walked in. "But nothing would have been punishment enough for taking away your talent."

"It would not have taken my talent. Just made it more difficult for me to... express my talent. We would have found a way, though." Klavier forces another grin, though the more they talk about terrible possibilities, the less he feels like smiling. "Perhaps I would have taken after you—become a conductor of some kind instead of a musician."

"You're a fine composer and I'm sure you'd make a fine conductor." Sebastian's hands trail up and down his baton. "But you don't have to. Just make it through a few weeks, and you'll be back to your old self. In the meantime, though..."

Sebastian reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flat mechanical keyboard, approximately ten inches long.

"It's nothing like being able to play, or like having a proper keyboard, but it's portable, even with just one hand." Sebastian's words come quickly, one atop another. "It has the major chords, and it should help you if you want to tinker with some melodies."

"Thank you." Klavier runs the fingers of his left hand up and down the small keys, getting a feel for the tiny keyboard. "I... ack, there's really nothing I can say other than _danke_ , Sebastian."

"You're very welcome." Sebastian smiles, a bright, pleased grin as he straightens. "I'm glad you like it. And anytime you need help with anything else, just tell someone, all right? We're all happy to give whatever assistance we can."

Klavier nods, keeping his face turned to the instrument. Saying that he doesn't want help won't be useful—will only hurt Sebastian, and Klavier really is honored by the care and thought that clearly went into the gift.

"I should probably be going, then. The Chief Prosecutor has us all hopping—well, I'm sure you know that." Prosecutor DeBeste hesitates in the doorway, watching Klavier with clear uncertainty. "You're all right? Really?"

"Really, I am quite fine." It's hard to make the smile stick, but Klavier has enough practice at it that he manages, and it even becomes a bit more real as he watches the way Sebastian seems to glow at the sight of Klavier with his hands on the tiny instrument.

There's no real reason for him not to be fine, after all, and as Sebastian said, there's plenty of work to keep them all busy, crime not slowing down just because Klavier finds it harder to keep up right now.

XXX

Klavier plays with a handful of melodies that evening, but none of them sound right. He tries taking one of his guitars down, using his left hand to caress the strings, but it takes too long to set the chords and even those sound flat and uninspired to his ears.

Putting the guitar back with its brethren to continue collecting dust, Klavier warms up another meal of left-overs, forcing himself to eat even though his appetite is pretty much non-existent.

He is lucky, after all, and lucky people don't sulk and starve themselves just because their home is too empty and quiet.

XXX

Day four, and Klavier has managed to stand in court for five hours, trading barbs with Apollo Justice and Trucy Wright.

They haven't arrived at a verdict yet, which is about what Klavier expected when he saw that Justice had accepted the role of defense attorney. Klavier hasn't lost yet, either, and he intends to beat Justice to the crime scene if he can, to find further evidence to strengthen his theory.

Assuming, of course, that Ema Skye is available to drive.

And that Klavier is able to use his left hand, which is now rather sore. Klavier may have to reconsider how he wants to do objections. Though shouting alone is really out of the question, since Apollo will be able to drown him out with his self-professed Chords of Steel.

"Prosecutor Gavin!"

 _Those_ Chords of Steel, and Klavier turns to smile at his courtroom rival. " _Hallo_ , Herr Justice. I was expecting that you would already be on your way to the crime scene."

"We'll be going soon." Trucy answers in Apollo's stead, while Apollo looks down at the ground, his face suspiciously red. "We just wanted to say hi to you first, see how you're doing with your recovery."

"About the same as the last time you saw me, _fraulein_."

"Yeah, that's what I was expecting." Trucy sighs, an action Klavier doesn't think is entirely warranted in this situation. "Which is why I wanted to ask if it's all right for me to braid your hair for you really quick, and Polly also brought something for you."

Trucy pokes Apollo in the side, and Apollo sighs before reaching into his bag and pulling out a solid handful of compact discs. "I thought, since you're not able to practice for a while... maybe it'd be fun for you to listen to some other bands. Get some inspiration. Learn what your competition's doing. These are a couple of bands Trucy and I really like—"

"Mainly Apollo." Trucy grins as Apollo's face turns redder. "Polly's got surprisingly good taste in music, considering he insists he doesn't like yours. It'll help keep your office from being too quiet."

"I..." Klavier reaches out hesitantly with his left hand, accepting the handful of CDs. He only fumbles them a little as he bends down to place them in his bag. " _Danke_ , Herr Justice. I wasn't expecting such a thoughtful gift."

"Don't mention it." Apollo smiles, right hand up ruffling his hair, looking quietly pleased with himself. "Also, if you were really planning on heading out to the crime scene... want to drive out with us?"

Klavier looks up at Apollo in surprise. "You're driving? You have a car?"

Apollo's eyes fall away to the left. "Yeah. Clay left me his car. It's a really nice one."

"Oh." He should be able to say more than that. He should be able to say something charming or at least sympathetic, acknowledge and honor the pain that Apollo is going through. He's not sure what to say, though, and finds his own gaze sliding away from Apollo and Apollo's grief. "I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry." Apollo shrugs. "Clay's gone, but that doesn't mean I'm never going to want anyone to talk about him... that _I'm_ not going to talk about him. Clay's life was more important than his death, and I'm... really glad he thought to look out for me, even at the end."

"It seems that he was an incredible friend." Klavier raises his eyes to meet Apollo's again. "I am sorry that I didn't get a chance to meet him when he was alive. And... very honored by your extension of courtesy and friendship to me."

"Also flustered by it, because you're getting all formal without slipping into German." Apollo reaches out, giving Klavier's left shoulder a gentle shove. "Come on, drive out with us. It'll kill two birds with one stone for us by making sure whoever you've got guarding it knows that we're allowed to be there."

"And I can braid your hair for you while we're in the car, so it won't take any extra time." Trucy grins up at him.

Klavier can't help laughing. "All right, the two of you win, I will come out with you!"

"Good." Trucy takes Klavier's left hand, dragging him forward; Apollo falls in on Klavier's right side.

They drive out to the crime scene together, trading banter back and forth about their suspects, and Klavier finds himself relaxing. Though he can't _forget_ about his broken hand, not while Trucy is busy combing out and braiding his hair, for a little bit it doesn't _matter_ , and that's really good enough.

XXX

Klavier eats heated left-overs for dinner again, finishing off the box, which means that he will need to order something else if he wants to have food again tomorrow.

He puts the CDs into his stereo system, finding that Apollo's taste in music, though different from his, isn't bad. There are even some songs that give him a bit of inspiration, and he turns the music off and hums to himself as he does his best to clean himself without getting his cast wet.

He sleeps well that night, though he is still tired and irritable when he wakes the next morning and finds that buttons remain intent on driving him crazy and refusing to cooperate.

XXX

Day five, and Winston Payne appears in Klavier's office at lunch time, a plastic tub held in one hand.

Klavier stares at the much older man, surprised to see him. Though Winston and Gaspen Payne have both been at the office for longer than he has, neither has been particularly close to Klavier. They tend to bend too much with the current office culture—Winston less than his younger brother, but both to an extent that makes Klavier uneasy.

"From my wife." Winston drops the tub onto Klavier's desk. "When she heard about your hand, she thought it was likely difficult for you to cook. Hopefully you'll find something in here to your taste, and it should last for a few days."

"Ah... _danke_ , Herr Payne." Klavier stares at the tub. "Please extend my thanks to your kind wife."

"I will." Payne smiles. "Hand doing well then, Gavin?"

"Healing well enough." Klavier shrugs.

"Good." Payne nods to himself. "Very good. We need all the decent prosecutors we have, after all."

Klavier tries not to look like he's startled by the assertion.

Payne still smiles, and this time it is more like the expression Klavier has seen him use in court, smug and self-serving. "Don't look so surprised, Gavin. Did you think I became a prosecutor just for the money and power?"

This is definitely an unfair trick question that Klavier isn't really up to maneuvering through right now. "There have been many who believed that the power was the reason to take the job, over the years."

"And they were in control for a long time, and I certainly don't _mind_ the power and prestige." Payne flips some of his hair to the side. "But they're not in control right now. And I find that I rather like Prosecutor Edgeworth's way of running things. Emphasizing the search for the truth over personal gain... emphasizing teamwork... it's... well, my wife likes it, and I'm finding it's not such a bad way to have the justice system function, either."

"That... is good." Klavier returns the man's smile with a tentative one of his own. "I am glad to hear you say that."

"Good." A slightly harried expression replaces the smile on Payne's face. "Do you think you could tell that to the Chief Prosecutor then? So that maybe he'll actually _acknowledge_ me?"

Klavier blinks, startled by the request. Most people are trying to _avoid_ the Chief Prosecutor's eye, so far as Klavier is aware, Edgeworth's cold anger and righteous fury exaggerated with each retelling. "I... will do my absolute best."

" _Thank_ you, Prosecutor Gavin. A speedy recovery to you, then, and I'll likely have more food for you in a few days, when my wife decides to go on a cooking spree again."

Klavier doesn't have a chance to respond before Payne is out the door.

He enjoys the food thoroughly, though he also decides that he will need to be more careful about how much of his frustration he shows. When even Prosecutor Payne is noticing that he's not as his best and needs assistance, Klavier is clearly failing at taking care of himself.

XXX

Day six, and Klavier is considering trying to beat himself into unconsciousness with his own cast when _Prosecutor Simon Blackquill_ comes to ask if he's all right.

In Klavier's defense, it has been a very long and trying day. His trial against Justice had stretched out into a third day, whereupon Justice and Wright had soundly trounced him. He doesn't really _mind_ all that much—how many times will he have to tell reporters that so long as the truth is uncovered his record doesn't matter? But _this_ trial had already meant that Klavier was working most of Saturday—as was Justice, and if Apollo isn't complaining than Klavier certainly won't. Now that he has a _new_ suspect arrested, though, Klavier will be spending most of the remainder of the day getting paperwork arranged so that he can start his _next_ trial on Monday.

Which of course means that Klavier's printer had to decide it doesn't want to work.

When there aren't many other people in the building who can help.

And it's raining outside, which means that Klavier has to wear a ridiculous plastic poncho whenever he goes outside because otherwise his cast will get wet and his surgeon had spent about an hour informing him how _bad_ that would be.

And it's _dark_ , the sky a uniform grim gray, and even with all the lights on in his office Klavier can feel the rain pressing down on him. He remembers when he liked rainy days, once—thunderstorms more than the soft gloomy days like today, but he wasn't particular, Before, about the weather patterns that he took inspiration from. Now gray days just make it that much harder for him to summon up energy—another loss he can lay at Kristoph's feet.

And really he's just feeling _sorry_ for himself, because his hand itches and his job is being difficult and he wants to be home playing guitar even though it's impossible and he needs to just _deal_ with the way his life is right now.

"Gavin-dono?"

Klavier starts, spinning with a snarl to face the man standing in his office door. He regrets it as soon as he does—Simon deserves none of his frustrations. It is not Simon's fault that Klavier's good hand is currently covered in black ink, or that Klavier's hair is trying once more to fall into his eyes. He _will_ find a clip that holds his hair properly, one of these days. "Prosecutor Blackquill. Sorry. I wasn't expecting to see anyone else today."

"I was not expecting to be at the office today, but it seems fate has other plans. Crime does not take the weekend off, after all."

"No, sadly." Klavier sighs, using the clean heel of his palm to slam the printer cover closed and leaning against the edge of the stand that it's on. "Anything I can help you with?"

"I heard about your loss in court, and was wondering if you would be interested in commiserating with me about Wright's proteges over lunch."

"Yeah, I heard that you lost to Athena a few days ago, too." Klavier smiles in sympathy. "I'd be happy to have lunch with you, once I figure out how not to get ink all over everything I touch."

It won't be the first time they've gone out for a meal. Klavier, suspecting that Simon would find it difficult to adjust after his imprisonment, has made it a point to introduce Simon to as many restaurants as he can over the last six weeks. While they've been out he's pointed out other areas to Simon—shops, bakeries, bars, clubs, theatres, anything he thinks Simon might find interesting and not want to ask about.

"Printer trouble?" Simon gestures toward the infernal machine.

" _Ja_." Klavier sighs again. "I don't suppose you've any idea how to go about fixing one of these?"

"No, but I can certainly allow you the use of mine." Simon doesn't quite smile, but his expression does soften somewhat. "After food, though, or else this lunch run will actually be dinner."

"That does seem to be the way the day is going." Klavier studies his ink-stained fingers and then the hated poncho. Perhaps the ink will wash off in the rain...?

"Here." Simon produces a handkerchief from one of his pockets, nodding towards Klavier's hand. "Will you need assistance with your rain gear?"

Klavier can feel his face heating as he attempts to maneuver the handkerchief between his fingers well enough to clean them. " _Nein, danke_."

Simon's eyes narrow.

A spike of irritation runs through Klavier as his face heats even further. He shouldn't be irritated with Simon, he really shouldn't, Simon is being kind, kinder than most people would give him credit for, and Klavier needs to remember that. Needs to remember that Klavier is the lucky one, and he takes a deep breath and keeps his voice as calm and steady as he can. "I'm fine. I have it."

Simon crosses his arms in front of his chest, and now his smile is more like the one he usually uses in court, smug and self-assured. "And how is your hand healing?"

" _Fine_. I will be _fine_ , and I don't understand why everyone is so _verdammt_ interested in me all of a sudden!" Klavier forces himself to take a deep breath again, and now it is a different type of shame that heats his skin. He can't quite make himself meet Simon's eyes. " _Entschuldigung_ , Prosecutor Blackquill. That was uncalled for."

"You're frustrated." Simon inclines his head. "You are not used to needing assistance or to having to rely on others. You are young and you are more used to caring for than _being_ cared for."

"You're not that much older than me, you know." Klavier mutters out the correction before sighing. "But yes, you're right. I don't like being a burden on others. I've been trying very hard not to be, but it seems that I am not succeeding very well in that respect."

"You don't like being a burden, and one of your favorite methods of coping with stress has been stolen from you by the lack of use of your hand." Simon strides forward, grabbing Klavier's casted right hand and holding it firmly by the wrist. "And you think we are only interested in this because of the burden that it causes to us, yes?"

Silence stretches, and Klavier realizes that Simon isn't going to continue until Klavier answers, though to him the answer is self-evident. " _Ja_. What other reason is there?"

"Many." Simon sighs, shaking his head. "You do not truly know your own worth, do you? Not surprising, I suppose, given what you've been through, but still quite sad."

Klavier tries to jerk his hand free, finding quickly that he won't be able to without hurting himself. "I know my worth. And I know that _this_ greatly diminishes it."

"No, Gavin-dono, it does _not_." Simon raises Klavier's right hand so that it hangs between them. " _This_ is just a tool. The intelligence that allows you to do your job and do it well—to assist other when they ask—has nothing to do with this. The talent that allow you to make music to move others, to touch their hearts and souls—this tool lets you access it more freely, but it lies _within_. The _kindness_ that has you reaching out to many of us here when we need it—that has had you sitting at Prosecutor Edgeworth's side during earthquakes, that helped to make Sebastian a full _person_ instead of a tool to be used for good or ill, that has done so much to help _me_ these last few weeks—that has nothing to do with a broken appendage. The sense of _justice_ that burns in you, that has made it so that _you_ , out of perhaps all of us, has never been tempted to stray from truth to reach for personal desires or run from personal demons— _that_ has nothing to do with this injury."

Klavier stares in incredulity at the man standing before him. Simon doesn't praise anyone. The most praise that you can expect from Simon is the appending of _dono_ to your name if he considers you worthy of conversation, and Klavier had been quite pleased when he earned that four weeks ago. Swallowing, shaking his head, Klavier meets Simon's eyes. "It's just a broken hand. It will heal."

"Yes." Simon finally releases Klavier's wrist. "It _will_ heal. Completely, if Ema Skye and the office rumors are to be believed?"

Klavier nods, wordless.

"And do you have any idea how precious that is to most of us?" Simon sighs, a long, deep sound that contains more sorrow and wistfulness than Klavier has ever heard from him. "An injury that will _heal_ , Gavin-dono. One that will leave no scars, no lingering nightmares..."

"Oh." A small sound, as Klavier thinks he understands a bit of why everyone has been so interested in him and his recovery.

"Which isn't to say that this is not frustrating to you—likely infuriating." Simon shrugs, taking a step back. "But perhaps that will make you feel a bit easier about asking for and accepting assistance?"

Klavier sighs, rubbing at his temple with the heel of his left hand, not trusting his cleaning job to keep him from getting ink stains in his hair if he uses his actual fingers. "I think I've been a bit of an idiot. And I think we should go get something to eat—my treat, _ja_?"

"Perhaps everyone is allowed one moment of idiocy. So long as it is not a repeated sin." Simon inclines his head a slight fraction. "And it is perfectly acceptable to me that we head out."

Simon holds open doors for Klavier, and helps him don the hated poncho to keep the rain off when they come to the front door.

Klavier accepts his assistance, forcing himself to continue talking even when his tongue wants to stumble with embarrassment at needing the aid.

Sometimes, he supposes, even personal injuries aren't just about oneself.

XXX

Klavier makes it through the next seven weeks.

It's better, once the cast is off after four weeks and he's in physical therapy. Still not perfect, and he finds that he has to remind himself over and over that if he wants to make a full recovery he has to follow orders, to not push the boundaries of what he is allowed to do, but at least his hand doesn't itch so much. He much prefers the pain of stretching tendons and learning muscles to the itches that he couldn't scratch.

The others continue to cater to him, to ask on a daily basis how he is doing, and Klavier learns to accept the attention as the sign of affection that it is clearly meant to be.

He doesn't really mind being the center of a circle of friends and allies that includes prosecutors, detectives, and defense attorneys, after all.

"Anything that can help bring about true justice?" Simon makes the quiet comment to him with a smirk, when Klavier is trying to shoulder past him and head back to his office following an impromptu lunchtime guitar performance.

"Anything that can help the bearers of justice smile for just a little bit longer." Klavier flashes his own smile as he makes the proclamation, catching the small shift in Simon's smirk that says Simon accepts his counter-argument.

All in all, though it's an experience he would really rather never repeat, Klavier decides that breaking his hand was probably the best terrible thing that's ever happened to him.


End file.
